Seven Swans
by blurr
Summary: Edward and his team work to smuggle girls out of sex trafficking. Bella, a former victim herself, agrees to help but it will come at a great cost: returning to the world of sex slavery.
1. Chapter 1

**disclaimer**: I do not own Twilight, I merely write for enjoyment.

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**Seven Swans**

by blurr

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_'And when I die, when I die, I'll rise. _

_But when I live, when I live, I'll give it all I got.'_

_-sufjan stevens_

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We watched her through the mirror glass for quite some time. She sat with perfect posture, with one hand resting on the table in front of her, the other in her lap. She didn't look at her hands or stare at the ground like most of the criminals we threw in there for interrogation. But then again, she wasn't a criminal.

"Isabella Marie Swan." Jasper sighed slowly. He was flipping through her file looking exhausted and confused. He dragged a hand through his hair and sighed heavily. "I get she comes with great credentials and all, but I don't know Cullen, she looks way too young for this."

I looked back to the girl in the room. She was watching the clock on the wall passively.

"They'll break her." Rosalie snapped from behind us. Of course she was pissed for being overlooked for the task, but I couldn't exactly disagree with her outburst. "I'm a better fit for this mission, Edward, and you know it. The fact that you're even considering this girl is a horrible reflection of your judgment!"

I sighed and shoved my hands in my pocket. "This isn't my call, Rose, you know that."

"It's always your call." Rosalie hissed. "You're the lead on this project and you're making a dangerous mistake! She will compromise the mission." I could hear the click of Rosalie's heels as she paced back and forth.

"We haven't decided on anything yet." I reminded her calmly.

She waved a hand towards the glass. "What possible credentials does _that girl_ have that makes her better suited than me?"

"There's nothing in this file to indicate she has any." Jasper pointed out. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "Sam just said she was our girl."

"Sam." she repeated hotly, flipping her long blonde hair over her shoulder. She bit her lip and crossed her arms. "And since when do we answer to Sam?"

"Rose," I said quietly, "if Sam says she's our girl, then she's our girl. Understood?"

"So much for not deciding anything, Edward." She opened the door and turned once more towards us. "Sam might have reason to believe she can help us out there, but he isn't part of your team Edward. When are you going to trust our judgment over his?"

"Enough." I looked her way. "You've said your piece, and I appreciate that, now if you don't mind—"

She smiled darkly. "You're scared shitless, as you should be. Why haven't you sent in my husband yet for the interview?" She smoothed her skirt and smiled triumphantly. "I will be going, not her. Call me when you start thinking straight Cullen." I watched as Isabella perked up and glanced towards the mirror at the sound of the door slamming. She looked hopeful. It was probably the first sound she heard in hours. Rosalie had merely opened the door, snapped at her to sit quietly and wait for someone who would be with her shortly. That was five hours ago.

And sit she did. Not once did she get up and try opening the door. It was unlocked. She could have left. She could have looked for someone and asked what was taking so long. Yet instead she rarely even looked over to the mirror or door. She had to know she was being watched, yet she didn't show one ounce of discomfort. She never moved, not even to pour herself a glass of water from the dispenser on the table. Maybe she was stronger than she looked.

Jasper and Rosalie were right, however. She did look young. Painfully so. Her white peasant shirt hung a little too loosely, as though she was drowning in it. She didn't wear any makeup, and her brown hair was long and natural, sweeping around her face. Case and point: she looked like a tall twelve year old. Pretty, but not a mature woman who could handle the task we were going to put before her. What we needed was dripping sex. I wasn't a fool, we needed Rosalie. I was perfectly content with that decision but then Sam Uley, another lead on another project for the bureau expressed that I ought to consider this girl he knew of. That she had insight that we didn't. I was curious so I had him call her in.

But was this really the same girl Sam told me over dinner the day before to contact? What was he thinking? She did not look capable of being an asset to our team. I was frankly annoyed at the waste of time.

"I don't feel good about this." Jasper said, tossing Isabella's file on the table. "We can't send her out there. I think I'm with Rose on this one Edward. Rose can handle this case, and she's better…" he swallowed, "…equipped to complete the task. And that file? Doesn't say a damn useful thing about her. I understand we're short on time, but that has never altered our judgment before."

"Do you trust Sam's judgment this time, Jasper?"

"No." he said without missing a beat. I turned my back towards the glass for the first time in an hour. Jasper was sitting now at the table, his head in his hands. "God I hate this job some days."

Jasper never complained.

"Well, send in Emmett. Might as well feed her to the dogs to see what she's made up of."

Jasper pulled out his cell phone shaking his head. "God, forget drug and sex lords, he'll break her with one look."

"Then we'll send her home and everyone wins."

I sighed. He was right. Emmett wasn't thrilled about his wife going on the mission, but when Emmett saw our new 'talent' he was going to explode.

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"Over. My. Dead. Body!" Emmett stood at the door to the interrogation room, file in hand, staring at the little girl we all thought was not right for this job. Apparently he agreed. "No, no." Emmett turned to the mirror, and pointed towards us. "What the hell is wrong with you? No! This is a waste of time. She is a little girl! Hell no! This interview is not happening."

"I just turned twenty." Isabella said softly. "I'm not a little girl."

Jasper sighed loudly. "Edward, she even sounds like she's ten." I couldn't disagree.

Emmett looked as though he was about to snap. "Oh I'm sorry, you're twenty? Well guess what? I don't freaking care. I've seen ten year olds with larger tits!"

Now it was my turn to sigh. I pressed the intercom, "Conduct the interview now."

Emmett yanked out a chair and plopped down. He flipped through the file but I could tell he was just taking a moment to calm himself. A few minutes passed before Emmett spoke, still looking at the file. Isabella looked over at the mirror window curiously, then up to the speaker in the corner. Perhaps she didn't realize we were here after all.

"Isabella," he started tersely.

"Bella." She interjected. Emmett didn't look pleased. She didn't seem fazed. She folded her hands in her lap and met his glare evenly. "I go by Bella."

"Bella," he smirked sarcastically, "is that what your friends call you on the playground? Tell me, why do you think you're here?"

She bit her lip and shrugged. "I don't know, sir. Mr. Uley called me this morning and said I could be of some use?"

"Sam was wrong." Emmett shot back without missing a beat. "Tell me, what possible help could you be to us? What experience have you gained over your precious twenty years to help us?"

"I'm not sure if I can answer that, sir." she said softly.

"Let's see, you grew up in Forks, Washington?"

"Partly."

"Partly." He repeated. "Is that code or something? Partly? You either did or didn't."

This time she did glance at her hands. "Yes, I grew up in Forks. But I also grew up in Arizona. My parents were divorced and my time was split between them."

"Ah, divorce. So therefore you're apparently American."

She frowned at that.

"You're not in college?" Emmett started at the file in his hands.

"No."

"Why?"

"Money."

He sighed and continued going down the file. "And what of Sam? What is your relationship to Mr. Sam ol' Uley?"

"He's a family friend."

"Of Forks or Arizona?"

"Forks."

She looked confused. I would be too. Emmett was all over the place.

"What do you do for a living Bella?"

"I, um. I'm not doing anything right now." She looked uncomfortable with that. Alas she started showing signs of breaking down. Finally.

"Are you living off your boyfriend?"

"I don't date."

Her answer was curious.

Emmett sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Why are you here, Bella."

"I don't…know?"

"And why the hell not, baby doll?" Emmett smiled sarcastically as she readjusted in her chair. "I'm sorry, does that make you uncomfortable when I call you baby doll? I promise you Bella, you'll be begging to be called baby doll once they start giving you nick names."

"I don't know what you're asking me to help you with. Who are 'they'? What exactly am I here for, Mr…?"

"Emmett. Call me Emmett." He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "And you're here because we were under the impression that you'd be able to help us smuggle out a group of ten girls from sex trafficking in India by posing as a Mistress. Clearly we were wrong. You belong in a mall somewhere slurping a smoothie with your girlfriends talking about nail polish and the latest boy band."

Well, now she knew. I would have to talk to Emmett later about his lack of discernment there. We all knew she wasn't going to be working with us, so why tell her confidential information? He was slipping.

"Pose?" Out of all the reactions for her to have, I don't think any of us expected her to smile. "Pose as a Mistress for a sex trafficking brothel. Emmett," she leaned forward, "There is no posing in sex trafficking, you ought to know that."

I heard Jasper stand up and step next to me. I kept my gaze on Isabella. She seemed to grow in confidence over the seconds. Not exactly what I was expecting.

"And why is that, baby doll?" Emmett continued, with a glare that made make even Rosalie uncomfortable.

"Posers get killed." she said matter-of-factly. "They don't last more than ten minutes. Do your research. Posers are spotted miles away. And if you have anyone on the ground now, chances are they won't last long."

"Well then, you clearly have educated me on the world of sex trafficking. Congratulations. Can we just agree then that you're not the right person for the job?" Emmett flipped her file close and pushed the chair out to stand up but stopped when Bella cleared her throat.

"Yes. I'm not equipped to pose for you, nor do I have any interest in handing my life over for the slaughter." Emmett stood up, finally satisfied with her answer. "But if you want someone to set up as a Mistress and run a productive brothel then Sam was right. I can help you there."

Emmett became still, glancing her over. I could feel his opinion shifting which only meant bad news. I was counting on him to inform me to stick with Rosalie as planned.

"What makes Sam right, baby doll?" Emmett's tone seemed curious. Somehow, this little girl had him interested, and to be honest, Jasper and I were equally curious to what she had to say. Sam was never wrong.

"Because somehow in just my twenty years of experience, as you so bluntly put it, I managed to be a successful Mistress since I was fourteen." She tugged on her hair and looked bored for the first time. "And don't call me baby doll again unless you want me to serve you your dick on a silver platter."

Emmett seemed to speak for all of us, "Fuck."

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We sat around the table in silence for about an hour. Emmett was smiling, flipping through Isabella's file again. Jasper was staring up at the chalkboard, where we had her picture taped up, occasionally jotting down notes in his memo book. Rosalie was staring daggers at her husband, her legs crossed and her chin pointed down. I felt robbed of energy. Suddenly our mission we'd been working on day and night for the past few months was radically taking a different shape.

Isabella Swan. A working Mistress? No. Way.

Sam cleared his throat at the entrance of the conference room.

We all looked at him simultaneously.

"Sam." I greeted.

"Cullen. I trust you found Bella to be of some use?"

"That's an understatement." Emmett quipped.

Sam smiled and stepped fully into the room. He casually walked over and glanced at Isabella's photo.

"Isabella mentioned that—"

"Bella." Sam interrupted. "She hates being called Isabella."

"So I've heard." Emmett mumbled.

"Bella," I started again, "mention that she had worked as a mistress before? Is this true?"

Sam turned and had a grim smile. "Yes. Charlie, her dad, lost it when Bella disappeared at ten. She was snatched while she was traveling from Arizona to Portland. Charlie drove down there to pick her up but she never made it off the plane at PDX. I drove down to Portland immediately when I got his call. We never found her. She never got on the plane. Her mother dropped her off outside the airport. The cameras however, showed Bella being led off by a tale white man, in a white suit. They boarded a flight to London, but we couldn't find her there."

"London?" Rosalie asked. "Why London? It's highly unlikely for an American to be sold into the sex slavery in the UK."

"It was just a crossover. A place to stay until they left to Asia. They took her to Thailand first, but then when she became…." He swallowed, "too old for the job, they sent her to India to oversee a brothel."

Ten years old was just too young for that kind of work. I felt my gut tighten. She had looked so normal today. There were no signs to the terror of her past.

Sam sighed and pulled Bella's picture off the chalkboard. "Anyway, long story short, we were able to get Bella back a year and half ago."

I jotted down immediately a reminder to myself to question Sam later on this. How did they get Bella back?

"We can't just send her back." Jasper pointed out. "She may not be mentally stable at this point."

Sam shrugged. "I trust Bella. She's a fighter."

Emmett snorted. "I'd say. That girl was about to serve me my dick on a platter."

Rosalie raised her eyebrow.

"Can you blame her? She's a bit uncomfortable around men today." Sam mentioned.

"So what is it boss. Are we going to bring her on the team?" Jasper asked me. He leaned forward but kept his eyes on Sam. "It's a huge risk."

"I don't think we have much choice. We need her." I hated the words immediately. Rosalie quickly got up and walked out. Emmett mouthed 'don't worry about it.' Great.

It was hours later until I had a moment to myself. Emmett seemed to be the only one excited about bringing Bella on the team. Jasper thought I was being irresponsible, and Rosalie just saw herself being replaced. I on the other hand felt torn. Ten years old and sold into sex slavery? She was so young. She was still so young! I couldn't just drag her back into that life. But Sam was right.

We needed her. I needed her, for this mission. I hated that feeling.

I had called my dad the second I got back to my office.

"_Edward, I was just about to call you." My dad's voice was always comforting. My father and mother had just recently moved from southwest Washington to Forks to work at the local hospital. Forks. Bella's home._

_Partly, I remembered with a smile. Small world. _

"_Dad, do you know a Charlie Swan?" _

"_Charlie? Who doesn't. That's Chief Swan to you, mister."_

_That's right. I read he was a cop. "Have you met his daughter?"_

"_Daughter? I wasn't even aware he had a daughter."_

"_Seems about right. She lives in Portland now."_

"_Small world. So I take it you've met her. What can I do for you Edward?"_

"_I don't feel right about asking her to join our team."_

"_Oh. She does international charity work as well? Edward, are you dating this young lady because you know your mother is going to tear you open if she finds out you have a new girl and you haven't brought her home yet."_

_I sighed. "No, dad. I'm not seeing her. I just met her today. She um, well. She has a history dealing with my work."_

"_Oh." It was a filler word, I could tell. "….Oh." Realization. "Edward, she was involved with sex trafficking?"_

"_She was a victim and I think I need her on the team."_

"_As a specialist?"_

"_As an agent."_

_There was at least a second of silence on the phone. "Edward. Is that responsible? Is this young lady capable of working as an agent? Doesn't that require training and time to prepare? I thought you guys were leaving next week?"_

"_I understand that, but she has knowledge that can be of a great use to us. She can help the success of this project Dad."_

"_Edward, I'm not going to argue with you on this. Honestly I just think it might be risky, but I trust your judgment son."_

That's was all I needed.

I sighed as I dialed the number, feeling dread as it started ringing.

"Hello?" a timid voice asked.

"Ms. Swan?"

"Yes."

"This is Edward Cullen and I would like to schedule a meeting together to discuss the possibility of you working with our current project you were interviewed for this afternoon."

"Project," she repeated. "Smuggling out kids from sex slavery?"

I leaned back and opened up my schedule planner. "Yes."

"Edward, was it?"

"Yes."

"Edward," she sighed, "I can help, but please don't be mistaken. I'm not leaving Portland. There is no way in hell I am going back."

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******T.B.C.**

thanks for reading, friends!

-blurr


	2. Chapter 2

From here on out, Seven Swans will be in third person. I changed my mind after writing the last chapter, and while it would be more professional  
to go back and change the first chapter to match the rest, I'd rather keep it how it is. Sorry folks!

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**Seven Swans**

by blurr

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_'I saw a sign in the sky: __Seven swans, seven swans, seven swans. _

_I heard a voice in my mind: __I will try, I will try, I will try_.'

_-sufjan stevens_

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He wasn't having a good day. He didn't mind waking up thirty minutes before the alarm clock. He didn't even mind his toaster not heating up. And in a divine act of sheer grace, he didn't even mind the lacking presence of his morning paper despite the ongoing conversation with The Columbian about how it was never on his doorstep. What he did mind, however, was the traffic. The endless and expanding sea of cars that seemed to plague his morning route.

The drive over the i-5 bridge was backed up past Fourth Plain and he wasn't about to try to get over to the 205 bridge. While it may get him over the river quicker, it would take him about another thirty minutes to backtrack the loop to downtown- and that was without traffic.

Which certainly, at seven am in the great ol'Portland metro area, there was always bound to be traffic. Besides, he had endured the stop and go all the way on the interstate until he was actually on the bridge, and now he was simply stuck at 'stop.' The opportunity to head towards the 205 bridge was over.

To make all matters under the sun worse, his coffee he grabbed at the 7-Eleven was already cold and he was pretty sure the hazelnut creamer in the gas station wasn't exactly fresh. So instead he was plagued to smell the sweet aromas of his unattainable coffee.

Today, he decided quite confidently, _sucked_. A new record considering it was only 7am.

It was at that moment of great despair that his phone rang. He sighed knowing it was fully against the law to answer while driving, but frankly, he wasn't driving. He was parked right behind a mustard color Toyota pickup blaring it's radio and smelling heavily of cloves right there on the bridge. When the phone rang again, he reached for it, caring less about laws and caring more about the fact that he was late for work.

Yet, seconds within answering, he regretted that decision.

"Where are you?" Rosalie's crisp voice came over the line. He checked his cell's screen again, noting that it indeed said Jasper, not Rose.

"I'm on my way. What do you want and why did you call on Jasper's phone?"

"You wouldn't have answered if I used mine. Again, Edward, where are you?"

"I'm on my way." He reiterated through tight lips.

"Are you in Vancouver still?"

He glanced around, noticing he was in fact just parallel with the "Welcome to Oregon" sign on the bridge. "Well, technically no. I'm straddling the state line."

"Sexy. Bridge?"

"Yes," he replied, highly annoyed with the conversation. "What do you wa-"

"Which bridge?" Came the crisp command, interrupting him.

He just wasn't in the mood for Rosalie's game this morning. "What is the interrogation all about? Good morning to you too, god. Where's Jasper?"

"He's currently in a meeting with our foreign affiliates." She sounded bored. "Listen, what bridge are you on? Don't make me ask again."

"The I-5, as usual, wanting to shoot myself." For the fun of it, he made a fake gun with his hand and shot his temple, fully depressed that it did nothing to lessen the irritability taking over. He laid his head on the steering wheel, ecstatic that the car behind him decided honking was the best solution. Could this morning get more complicated and tense?

"I still don't understand why you don't just move to the Portland. There are a million reasons why it would work out better for-"

"Because Rosalie," he interrupted her, "I love making life harder on everyone, or have you not noticed that?"

"Oh Edward, are you still day dreaming about getting yourself some sheep and cows and living it up as farmer Joe?"

"I prefer the option to spread out and not deal with traffic on a daily basis. Besides, I'm going to get my sheep."

He honestly did prefer Vancouver, Washington, to Portland. It was more spread out. The roads were wider. And while it was mostly comprised of a suburbia utopia, there were plenty of country outskirts. It gave him the luxury of being right off the freeway exit but in the midst of the forest with a good hunk of land where he hoped to buy a handful of animals and plant at least a row of green beans. Just like the farm he grew up on before the Cullens adopted him. Currently he had a dog, and he was pretty sure some frozen green beans in the fridge from last Thanksgiving. He was practically on his way.

"Listen, my coffee is cold, I'm stuck on the freakin' bridge, the punk in front of me decided to switch his radio to some Lady Gaga junk and the freak behind me is just now discovering his car's ability to honk- and if I didn't know it any better, I'd say he's honking in perfect rhythm to the Lady Gaga. Either shoot me now, or get to your point."

There was a second of silence, and he was pretty sure she biting her lip to keep from smiling. She always enjoyed it when he suffered.

"Well sir," she paused, while clearing her throat, "you need to go pick up one Miss Isabella Swan and bring her to work with you. Emmett would like to get her on tape with her background before we start putting together the logistics. We need a complete file worked up on her."

"We do." He pointed out.

"Not just from hearsay from Sam. We need to know the facts from her. We're going to have to back up and redo at least another month of work to realign this project to include, rather focus, around Isabella." She sighed into the receiver. "Thanks for that."

"Bella." He interjected. "Call her Bella. And don't even start. We don't even know the level of involvement Miss Swan will have. Um." He pinched the bridge of his nose, already surprised that his morning could in fact get more complicated. "Okay. Where do I need to go to pick her up?"

"When you start moving again, wrap around on the Jantzen Beach exit and head back into Washington. Now, doesn't that sound fun sweetheart?"

He groaned. He was going to have Poker Face stuck in his head for nothing? At least the route back into Washington was never busy in the morning; only when work was over did the mad rush start all over again across the bridge into Washington.

"Your precious Bella lives in Washougal." Washougal. Closer to the 205 he had thought about taking earlier before he got stuck in the middle of this bridge.

"Oh, fuck me." He sighed.

"Married. I'll text you the address and directions. It looks fairly easy. But honestly why you all live around Portland and not in Portland makes no sense to me whatsoever. You country hicks. And you just keep multiplying like rabbits."

Honestly at this point he was barely listening and felt entirely confused when he tuned in to the word 'rabbits.'

"Besides, there is nothing to do where you live but crappy movie theaters and bowling." And then, in an afterthought, she added, "I didn't even know people went bowling anymore." Ah. Rosalie didn't see the point living anywhere that wasn't in walking distance to clubs or designer footwear boutiques. He considered her a good friend, but honestly, he didn't know how Emmett could handle her.

"People bowl all the time. And not everyone is keen on city life. I have to go. Cars are moving." He adjusted his seatbelt, ecstatic to get away from Mr. Toyota and Honk-Crazy and to end this phone call.

"Try to get here in an hour."

Not likely, he thought. Besides, he had to get another coffee to keep the suicide rate minus one this morning.

"And Edward?"

"What." He didn't mind how harsh his voice sounded.

"Another girl was reported missing right in our target area."

Despite how long he was on the job, his gut always felt twisted when he heard the news. "How," he took a deep breath. "How old?"

"Five." Came the soft response. "God, five years old, Edward. Who could someone do something like that?"

_Apparently_, he thought, _a lot of sick bastards_.

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Her house wasn't anything he was expecting to come across.

It was actually quite heavenly. Small. In the middle of nowhere. Well, twenty minutes into nowhere at least. And while it wasn't exactly land capable of hosting a buffet of farm animals, it strongly reminded him of his childhood.

He was expecting a small cramped apartment on the outskirts near the freeway. Something that made him want to wash his hands and not sit on the furniture. He wasn't expecting the narrow road trailing over the hills deep in the woods. Nor was he expecting to come across the little white house sitting right on the stream. The backyard was non-existence, and instead it slopped right into the sea-green crisp stream that flowed out towards the Columbia.

It was a beautiful slice of land considering how close it was to Starbucks, McDonalds, and a buffet of chain stores.

He saw her before she saw him. Bella was standing in a loose black cotton dress, wearing teal rain boots that almost met the hem of the dress. She looked thoughtful, he noticed; as she held a running hose in one hand and her other neatly placed on her hip. He imagined the sound of the hose covered the sound of his car coming up on the gravel driveway. She looked nothing like the little girl in the interrogation room the other day. She belonged here, she could hold her own. The tall evergreens behind her shoulder, her brown hair pulling with the breeze, the sound of the stream, the way her brow was lifted elegantly. He felt his gut fold over and felt highly annoyed with it. How could this girl be a former Mistress of a brothel, overseeing the abuse of little girls just like she used to be?

He made his way up towards her, realizing he ought to make some sort of sound to not scare her. Luckily a nearby cat meowed at his presence before rubbing up against his legs. He was grateful for the ice-breaker, but sighed as he saw his black slacks getting matted with orange cat hair. Perfect.

She glanced over, without much recognition in her look.

"Hello?" She asked, putting down the hose. "Sorry about that. He is too comfortable with humans for his own good. I think I have a lent roller inside somewhere."

He waved it off. "No problem. What's his name?"

She shrugged, "not sure. He lived here before I did. I usually call him Mister. Are you here for an order?"

Before he could inquire what about what she meant 'order,' she had stepped back to the side of the house, turning off the water before greeting him with a smile. As he neared he saw she had been watering a row of flower pots. There must have been thirty baskets, each neatly lined with moss and a little bit of fertilizer.

When she didn't recognize him he remembered she never actually saw him face to face the day before. He had spent the day behind the mirror window, watching her. He pulled at his suit jacket, loosely unbuttoning it.

"Edward Cullen." He introduced himself, "And no, I'm not here about an order. We talked on the phone the other day."

"Edward." She repeated. She looked uncomfortable as she bit her lip. "Nice to meet you." She wiped her hands on her dress, leaving thin lines of light brown dirt. She reached out to shake his hand. He did the same, not minding the earth he felt there.

"I'm sorry, did you want to come in?" she asked softly, gesturing towards the house. "I imagine you're here to talk?"

Her confusion caused his confusion. "Were you…" he sighed, knowing the answer before he asked, "not expecting me?"

"Not at all." She glanced down, fidgeting with the hem of her dress. She seemed friendly but closed off, he thought. He realized he never met any rescues once they were older. He wasn't familiar with the consequences in their behavior yet he assumed they'd be like she was. Closed off, reserved, avoiding eye contact.

"I see." This morning just couldn't get peachier. "I'm sorry to drop in like this then. What are you doing awake this early, with thirty baskets of dirt?"

"Thirty five," she corrected him. "I kind of run a nursery here. Did you see the sign at the end of the driveway? I'm getting this batch of flower baskets ready. Easter is a month away, and that's when orders start coming in."

He hadn't seen the sign. He was too focused reading the text messages of directions as he made the turns to notice anything along the way. He did, however, notice how this young lady seemed much different than the day before. Her hair was fuller, he thought. And her skin, which was mostly covered the day before, was pale and matted. Her cotton black dress had a low cut v-neck, revealing goose bumps, most likely due to the cold breeze.

"A nursery?" he asked, making polite talk.

"Well, made to order nursery. I don't have a self-serve store if that is what you're asking." She looked uncomfortable, biting her lip again, refusing to meet his gaze. Despite the sunny weather, it was chilly, and he watched as she wrapped her arms around herself.

"Uh," he felt entirely annoyed that nothing was going right. "Do you happen to have coffee?"

She smiled beautifully at that, this time looking at him. "Coffee isn't good for you, Mr. Cullen. But I'll make you a cup of green tea. You'll thank me later."

Fantastic, he wanted coffee. Needed coffee. Morning was made for coffee.

"Sure." He forced a smile. "I'll be in right after you; I just need to make a phone call to the office to check in with them."

"Of course." She left him, the smell of lavender and vanilla passing by. He couldn't help but feel she was an odd one, but he assumed with her past it would be hard not to be.

He watched her head around the side of the house towards the front door until he whipped out his phone and dialed the numbers angrily.

"Man, where are you?" Emmett answered. "You're never this late."

"Miss Swan's home. Your wife sent me to pick her up."

"What? Why?"

"Because she said you wanted me to which clearly that was a lie. She didn't inform Miss Swan that she'd be coming in today either." Edward leaned against the house, cursing under his breath as the orange cat pushed up against him again. "Did you hear the news?"

"Shit, five years old, Edward. These fuckers are getting crazier by the day."

"We need to get in there now and start extracting our cargo." He ran a hand through his hair, and noticed a big red truck for the first time.

"Damn, Edward. They are girls. Not cargo."

"Keep them impersonal and you can think more clearly."

"Hey! Since you're there, can you interview Bella more on her past? I'm all for Miss Swan to work with us, but I'm unclear about what information she has that we don't. We can't utilize a woman we don't know, you know?"

He knew Emmett was right. In that case, Rosalie was right too for sending him here.

He needed to be here. Needed to get to know Bella.

Someone needed to walk through her past and create a firm file so they could see where and when she could benefit them and the project. Edward sighed, absently listening to the wind chimes Bella hung off her back porch. He hated this part of the job. He was never one for prep. That was more of Jasper's thing. He just liked to get in and get out, hoping he did his best. But the stakes were higher this time. They were going into the heart of the trafficking industry and extracting more than one girl at once. That was going to take some talent and planning.

"Emmett? I don't think I'll be making it into the office today. I'll be on Bella's farm-thing she has going here."

"Farm!" Emmett perked up at that. "Does she have sheep too? Dude, she's like your farm soul mate or something. "

Edward decided he was never sharing a personal goal with them ever again. Damn sheep.

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Her home smelled of cedar. She had an eclectic arrangement of artwork on canvases all about, some hung, some leaning against the wall. Books were everywhere. Bookcase after bookcase, and then there were tall piles of books leaning against the bookcases.

He found himself scanning them, surprised to find the wide range of topics within her collection. Everything from the classics to old manuals to air flight training filled her bookshelves.

"I inherited a lot of them." She said, stepping into the room, holding a simple blue mug with flowers. "From everyone really. Parents, grandparents, old neighbors. I don't have the heart to get rid of them." She stepped forward and held out the mug to him. "Green tea with some honey, sir."

"Honey?" he repeated.

"From my bees." Of course she'd have bees, he thought.

He laughed now, running a hand through his hair. "Will, Miss Swan, I have to admit it. You are living my dream life here."

She smiled up at him, "You want to keep bees?"

"I want to keep everything." He said, taking a hesitant sip. He was surprised that it didn't make him cringe, even more surprised that he wanted to taste it again. "I grew up on a farm before I was adopted. I don't have the time really to do anything other than feed my dog right now, and it's by pure luck he gets fed at all."

She nodded, "I understand that. I decided after living pretty much in a stone room without windows for years of my life that I wanted to connect more with the earth." She gestured to the room next to her. "Please, come have a seat and tell me just why you're here."

The next room was pretty much a replica of the entryway. Books. Art. But this time there were a few mismatched couches, a television, and a wood pellet fireplace. He noticed she sat on the chair closet to the fireplace, furthest from where he sat. He recalled Sam mentioning her discomfort of men. Naturally with her past it wasn't surprising.

Suddenly he felt guilty for putting her in this position of being alone with him.

"I'm sorry I came here without calling. I was under the impression that I was supposed to bring you into the office today." She stood up at that, as though she was willing to leave. He waved his hand dismissively. "It doesn't matter. I'd prefer to conduct our business here. If you have some time, could we perhaps talk a bit? I need to have more understanding on your history to see just how you can help us, Miss Swan. This project is crucial and I want to make sure I take all the necessary steps to insure success."

"Bella." She said, sitting back down and leaning into the chair. She ran a hand through her hair. "Please, I don't like being called a Swan." She pulled a blanket off the edge of the chair and wrapped it around her bare shoulders. "And uh, yeah. I have time. What do you want to know?"

He shrugged, taking another sip of his tea. "We have a vague outline on you, and I guess we want to know a bit more. Why don't you tell me about your childhood before you were taken at the airport?"

"Mr. Cullen-"

"Call me Edward."

"Edward." She repeated, biting her lip again. "Let me ask you a question first. How does someone like you get into the business of freeing young girls from sex slavery?"

He leaned forward, putting his drink down on the coffee table. "No, Bella. How does someone like you, an innocent young girl who was kidnapped and forced to do awful things at such a young age end up a Mistress of a brothel?"

Without much hesitation, she held out her arm, exposing the underside of her wrist where he saw a peculiar set of teeth marks, scarred in an intricate pattern. He had seen this before, with some rescues. Once the girls got older they'd start bleeding them out and keeping them on drugs. Weak and addicted, the girls would do anything to survive or get their next hit.

"I didn't have a choice. If it wasn't me, it would have been her. She never cared about the girl's well-being. I wanted to keep them safe. I couldn't let the harm done to me be done to them. She wanted to pass them off to the dogs."

"And who is she?" he asked.

"Her name was Victoria." She swallowed. "And she's the reason I got rescued."

"So she did you a favor?" he pointed out.

"She got me out of the way so she could make a killing off those girls."

He watched as she seemed to open up vocally, but he could practically see the guarded walls coming up. All emotion left her tone and expressions.

He cleared his throat. "We got news today of another girl missing. Five years old."

She took a deep breath, "how do you know it's a human trafficking case?"

He pulled out a little black memo pad form his jacket. "We don't. But what do you think?"

She stared back at the fire place, crossing her arms. "She's probably lost to you now. Her parents should give up."

"Did yours?"

She didn't respond.

"How old were these girls you oversaw?" he asked, refusing to put any emotion behind the words. This was business. A job. And no matter what, he couldn't make it personal or else he'd never be able to pull himself together and get those girls safe. Since the beginning of this job he refused to see the girls as humans, but rather a margin that he needed to push. Once you humanize them, you start making wise decisions in their best interest. As far as he was concerned, they were _cargo_.

"The youngest in my care had just turned six years old." She said softly. "She was American, Lilly." He couldn't help but notice the way her voice seemed weak. "And I promised to keep her safe."

"Bella," he pinched the bridge of his nose, hating the nature of the conversation. "What would they do with someone who was six year olds?"

"What do you think?"

"I don't participate in hiring underage girls to service me so I wouldn't know." He said dully. "Listen, we need to know everything before we extract these girls."

"Where are you heading?" she asked, realizing for the first she didn't know much about their plans at all.

"India. You're old turf. Once I went over our plan with Sam he saw some missing gaps in our information and said you'd be able to fill them in. Said that's where you were from. Same circle." He leaned back, watching a frown spread over her face.

"And knowing what sick perverts do to six year old girls is a gap?" She felt guilty for how harsh the words were, but she didn't like reliving the memories.

He sighed. "Yes. Like I said, we need to know everything for a successful extraction."

"Alright, Edward." She leaned forward, slipping out of her boots. He tried unsuccessfully to not glance at the view of her chest. "Six year old girls were generally reserved to entertain the men while they waited for a turn with the older girls."

"Older girls." He repeated, jotting it down in the memo book. "How old were those girls?"

"Eight to ten."

He paused, recalling his conversation with Sam. "That's how old you were when you were first taken?"

"Yes." She nodded, her voice was quiet. "I was ten."

"And what were these girls primarily used for?"

She smiled grimly. "The main act, naturally."

He saw this was going to be harder for her then he thought. She was that main act once. He couldn't imagine how a young girl would cope. Yet here she was, living and real before him. Moved on from the dangerous memories. Yet as she spoke, he had a sinking feeling that she hadn't moved on. And that throwing her back into this world may not be wise.

"Edward," she said, after a second, "the laws where you're going work around the industry. They feed off of them practically. The economy lives off the tourism sex trafficking pulls in. How are you going to get these girls out with the support of their government?"

He glanced up from his notes. "Well, Bella, it's not exactly legal, what we're doing."

If she was surpised, she didn't show it. "What about here? What kind of support does the local government grant you?"

He smiled grimly. "What we're doing isn't exactly legal on both ends, Bella. We're private extractors. We work within contracts from families who hire us to retrieve their daughters."

For the first time she looked curious. "So you rescue individuals rather than groups?"

He nodded. "Mostly. We've collected three cases in the same area. It will be our biggest extraction yet if we pull it off. That's why we need your help, Bella. You know the ins and outs here. More than us."

"Edward," she said slowly, almost defeated. "Three girls. You're extracting just three girls and that is your biggest project yet? God, do you not even know how many girls there are in just one building?"

"Tell me."

"I oversaw fifty in my brothel alone. That is just one out of ten brothels within a ten mile radius."

"Fifty?" He leaned back. "We weren't paid to extract fifty Bella."

"So you only rescue the girls who have parents that pay." She looked furious, for the first time displaying intense emotion.

He felt annoyed. She didn't understand the logistics. She didn't understand that projects like this required funding. Required resources. Required man power.

"Look, you can't make me feel bad. Yes, it's horrible that I can't rescue them all. But I can rescue three, but that is dangerously close to the edge of what we can do. I need your help to make this successful. Bella, you can help us return these girls to their families. We're going to set up a brothel, and once we locate the girls and pay for them we're getting out of there. No one will think anything of it. Brothels open and close all the time."

"How much." She asked hotly. "How much do you the families pay you?"

"Depends. Usually around ten thousand. Generally it cost only a couple of hundred dollars to pay off the brothels for a girl. Once we secure them, we're out."

"No one will sell the girls to you. You need a Mistress that they know and trust to orchestrate a deal. You have to know that already, right?"

He sighed. "We're working on that."

She looked thoughtful for a few minutes. This time she did meet his gaze, straight on. She looked so defeated, but he couldn't exactly understand why. He resisted the urge to glance away and instead, watched as she crossed her arms and learned forward again.

"I'll help you get your three girls, and I'll be your Mistress," before he could say anything she continued, "I just have one request."

"What's that?" For the first time since they began drafting this project he felt hopeful. A real Mistress who knew the ropes.

"I want to pay for the extraction of four more."

It couldn't be done. "It's impossible." It was dangerous. Irresponsible. And would require much more time there for them to remain undercover. "Look, I understand you want to tie up some unfinished business, but it just isn't possible to extract seven at once."

"Make it possible, Mr. Cullen. Otherwise you're on your own."

Seven girls. He watched as she absently traced the scar on her wrist. "Bella, no one is going to support a project like this. Our government looks the other way when it comes to us. No one, however, will let this slide. We can't keep that many girls hidden."

She stood up and reached for his empty cup. "They won't have to look the other way if they don't know what we're doing." She bit her lip. "Forty thousand. I'll pay you today if you want."

"Seven girls." He repeated again, running a hand through his hair. "Fuck me, Bella. It's insane."

It was insane, he thought pulling out of her driveway. Insane that he believed her. Insane that he held on to the possibility that it could be done. Seven girls, one extraction.

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**T.B.C.**

Thanks for reading friends!  
A few notes: 'Seven Swans' is taken from the song, '_Seven Swans'_ from Sufjan Stevens (hence the quotes).  
I live in Vancouver, and volunteer to extract young girls from human trafficking- so I've taken a lot of the information from my own life. I work with an organization that is operates within the legal realms, and in a very diplomatic nature. But there are plenty of 'operations' that aren't so legal, and are highly dangerous. I suggest looking up chapters and organizations in your own area to see how you can help fight against sex slavery. A very real and dangerous threat. This story will **never **cross the line with inappropriate scenes involving young girls, but it will with adult situations. Consider yourself warned.

-blurr


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